A Taste of Whiskey
by FireflyEmbers
Summary: In a semipost apocalyptic world, a young woman struggling to control the beast inside of herself is plunged into a world of violence, attraction, and subterfuge. She must fight to protect herself and the ones she cares about while seeking the truth.
1. What the Freak Happened

Disclaimer: This story addresses mature issues and contains references to violence, gore, sex, and alternative lifestyles. If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, please do not continuing reading. If you have any comments or criticisms, please feel free to review and/or email me.

Chapter One:

They tell us that forty years ago there was an accident. They never tell us much more than that. After all, knowledge is power and their regime is all about keeping us as powerless and as obedient as possible. Some government, built on the premise of the only onse with the right to power being the ones in power. Then again, I've never been the type of girl to swoon over a title.

From the little they've told us, I gather that at the end of WWIII, some superpower that's since ceased to be got bombarded and one of said bombs hit a research facility. It could have even been an intentional biochemical attack, who knows. What is for sure is that the stuff hit the upper atmosphere, then everyone's lungs in the whole, entire, war-ravaged world. I figure, accidental or not, that had to have been an oopsie. After all, no country escaped the chemical's reach, so if it was an attack it'd just screwed over their own people.

Either way, no one could have predicted the effect it'd have when interacting with humanity's crazy, mixed-up gene pool.

It unleashed the monster in us all.

The first effects of the Gas weren't seen until all those babies that'd been little more than embryos when the Gas hit were born. Some of the mutations were spectacular. I hear the first real headliner was a beautiful baby boy born with fully feathered, fully functioning wings. Then more reports flooded in. A baby was born fully furred and fanged. Another nearly suffocated because he was born with gills and couldn't breathe in the air. At first, there was a list, and each one had a headline, a story, fifteen minutes in the spotlight.

Then the list hit hundreds, all over the world, and people finally put two and two together.

Some babies were lost in the ensuing panic – to lynch mobs, scientists, or even their own, frightened families. Those who wanted to keep their "freak" babies took up arms. The government finally stepped in when the rioting started, creating special hospitals, special schools, special everything. Anything to keep the mutated out of sight, out of mind. The segregation worked for a time. The number of "special" births hit a peak and leveled off, so the government and the world breathed a sigh of relief that disaster had been averted.

Hah.

Fourteen years in, the Gas reared its ugly head and bit the now-complacent world in the ass. A girl in Nwe York City got her period and burned down most of a city block. A boy in China started flinging semis around like they were twigs. All around the world kids who had up until that point in their lives been normal, been safe, were suddenly discovering they were freaks, too.

Hell broke loose, and this time, the kids fought back. Welcome to World War IV, I guess, but this time it was the world against the freaks and their sympathizers.

This time the government declared martial law almost immediately. They invaded the streets and marched the "Thresholded", as they'd begun to call themselves, into prisons and containment camps. Those who resisted were shot. Most survived and went into hiding, or fled to Canada and Mexico, so the US followed -- for the safety of the world, of course. It was happening all over the globe. Japan seized China, the Phillipines, and a large chunk of Russia. Russia claimed Greenland and Poland, though I don't think anyone really cared. Africa disintegrated. Europe consoildated. South America was carved up between a dozen different powers.

But all around the world, the Thresholded suffered.

They reacted by fighting back and by carving out niches, sanctuaries for themselves where they could be safe. Segregation had worked before, so most governments embraced this tendancy and set up "Genetic Anomaly Relocation Initiatives." GARIs became at once the Gas babies' savior and their curse. They got money to move to GARI towns to live with other freaks, but once they were there the government wanted nothing to do with them and certanily didn't want them ever leaving.

I bet they were quietly hoping the problem would take care of itself. It did, but not in the way the Normies were hoping. GARI towns became tiny, self-sufficient worlds. The movement created an entire freak sub-culture. I think that, more than anything, scares the government about us Freaks. We just don't die. The entire world's tried to stomp us out, but we just keep kicking. One of my friends, a Normie, once called Freaks the cockroaches of the human world. It's a better allusion than I think even he realized at the time.

I was lucky, for the first chunk of my life. There are those babies who, from the moment they're born, are obviously Gas babies. Their parents face a choice -- either send them to one of the many GARI orphanages, or to try to keep them, fully knowing there'll come a day when they have to send them away, regardless. The ones who Threshold at puberty at least get a normal childhood. Sometimes, I think that's worse. At least if you've only known the GARI towns all your life, you don't know what you're missing. You don't remember what it was liek to be normal, to be on the Outside.

I do. I was there until I was 25.

Some of the happiest Thresholds I've met have been Freaks since birth. I'm not one of them; I suppose that's one reason everyone seems to think I'm bitter. I'm not, not really. Just angry, that's all. Really angry.

Like right now. This little slip of a man with large, black eyes and skin the color of one of those beetles that always used to eat up my mother's garden was trying to convince me this pit of an apartment was worth more than I bet the entire rundown building was worth. I guess sleezeballs run on both sides of the social divide.

"Look, it's just not worth it," I was saying, trying half-heartedly -- and vainly -- to keep the irritation in my voice to a minimum. He kept twitching, like he had a nervous tic. It was really annoying.

"F-five ninety f-five," he offered. My indignant snort made him jump, which only made me angrier.

"A five dollar discount? What do you think I am, desperate?"

He twitched again, those bug eyes glittering amusedly. "B-Biggest freak c-city on this c-coast? Everyone here l-looking for a h-house is d-desperate."

I stared at him. Damn him, he was right; I'd been all over town and this was the only even slightly affordable apartment, as scummy as it was. I needed a place to stay, and fast. I could only stay in the Relocation Temp Barracks for another two days before they dumped me out on my shapely and homeless ass.

"Give me the damn agreement," I snarled, sticking out a hand. Bugman spasmed but got the paper into my hand, smiling. I resisted the urge to punch him in his smug little mouth and instead pulled out a pen. A moment later I'd signed on all the dotted lines and doomed myself to this miserable little pit for the next six months. Whatever, at least it had a roof that didn't leak and enough room for what few things I had managed to cart with me from Belmont.

Of course, Bugman wanted the first payment up front. I tossed the envelope at him, grabbed the keys, and tossed over my shoulder that I'd be back soon enough. I wanted to get out of that apartment before I popped his insectoid little head. Plus, I still had to find a job, and God knows with how hard finding a job had been that was going to be one surefire nightmare. Thumping down the seven stories to the ground floor, I pushed my way out onto the street.

Now, the real question was, what sort of job would a Freak like me find in this big city?


	2. City of Freaks

New Babylon, upon first glance, looked just like every other city in the world. Its streets were packed with cars, its buildings towered overhead, and there seemed to be a general layer of filth and dirt over everything. People packed the sidewalks, each one of them late for something or another. No one wanted to linger on the streets, but I'd seen that before, on the Outside. At least in here you knew your attacker couldn't run too far. Not having anywhere else to go can really put a damper on major crimes, especially if there's the chance that you'll be banished and loose the only sanctuary available to you. No one wants to be exiled from a GARI town. There's nowhere else to go.

I made my way through the crowd. It wasn't until the crowd surrounded you, until you were submerged in it, that New Babylon became something distinctly more than just another city. People of all shapes and sizes, all forms and colors, made up a crowd that should have been a lot more homogenous. I brushed past a woman with radioactively green skin and glowing yellow eyes, avoided a furred man who was too busy reading a newspaper to pay attention to where he was going, and ducked when someone whizzed overhead. It was overwhelming, at first. I hadn't been around many Freaks during my earlier years; I couldn't be, they more than any other Normies would figure out what I was with only a few clues. Plus, on the outside, the only Freaks you encounter are the government's puppets and figure head automatons. They have a specific purpose -- make it seem like the government cares while assuring that it doesn't have to. I'm still not sure what they do.

It didn't help that I could feel the cat stirring inside of me. It was my constant companion, a panther that vyed for control of at every turn. It was how I'd known, almost from the literal moment I was born, that I wasn't a Normie. Normies don't talk about the beast inside of them, or have to struggle against primal urges distinctly out of place in our 'evolved' civilization. I'd learned to control it, to tell myself it wasn't there, to ignore it and pretend so dedicatedly that I could almost believe that there was no one else in my head, no other being there with me.

I wonder if all Ferals feel like there's always someone watching over their shoulder.

Here, among all these people, some of them Ferals themselves, it was getting pretty hard to ignore the panther. I wasn't worried. I was really good at it. I could tell when it was going to make a move, could divert my attention to deny it the ability to take hold. I was as normal as I could get, barring the monthly loss of control and subsequent furriness.

Someone stopped in front of me. I stepped aside, muttering annoyedly to myself, and shoved on. I paid for my impatience, though, when I slammed into someone who'd been able to dodge around the woman using the same space I'd claimed. With a squeak, I went down. I hate when I squeak, and the fall made my ass hurt. I groaned, righting myself, and rubbing my ass as I cast around for my purse.

"Are you harmed, miss?" The voice was a low, rich baritone with just a touch of roughness. A hand descended into my view and I took it. His skin was warm to the touch. Feral, then. We ran hot, so others normally felt cool. I could feel the panther inside of me, already stirred to life, curl its tail and perk to attention. There was nothing like touching another Feral, I realized. I'd never done it before.

My eyes raised to my helper's face and I forgot his question was hanging in the air between us. He had black hair, hued a deep blue like a raven's wing, pulled back into a neat braid. Strands of it had escaped, framed his face, and I had the sudden desire to brush them out of the way. He was tall and slim, but I could sense the power of that body under his neatly pressed and rather expensive looking suit. It was his eyes that caught me, captivated me. They were liquid gold, intense and wild. No one could look into that molten gaze and mistake him for a Normia, no matter how mundanely he dressed. My hand was still in his and the rough pad of his thumb skimmed the side of my hand. The panther purred; I snatched my hand away, suddenly keenly aware of the cool breeze on my skin, the thud of my heart.

Good lord, was I getting aroused over a helping hand, now?

"Fine, thanks," I replied, borderline rude. I'd never had my beast respond to someone so.. enthusiastically, and it unsettled me. He smiled and it was all I could do to keep from losing my tenebrous hold on that feline side of me.

"New to Babylon?" His voice washed over me, his scent teasing my nostrils. Usually I didn't notice anything that a normal human wouldn't; years of self-denial worked wonders. Don't ever let anyone tell you you can't convince yourself of something. Dellusion is a powerful thing, especially when turned inwards. But the cat inside of me was close ot the surface and I couldn't pretend. His scent was rich, masculine, clean but with a musky undertone. I should have beena ble to tell what his beast was, but I wasn't a good Feral. I had no clue, except that the panther liked it.

"Yeah," I said, shifting my purse onto my shoulder, a nervous habit. Saying that I don't like not being in control is an understatement. A huge understatement. Embracing your primal side is all about surrending the control that we humans so desperately fight for. That, understandably, wasn't something that sat well with me.

"Here, you dropped something," he said, stooping and retreiving the item before I'd gotten that stupid cat to shut up and let me concentrate. Dumbly, I looked down as he handed me my list of apartments -- rather, the paper filled with crossed out apartment listings. One of his eyebrows arched and the cat presented me with an image of nibbling along that fine eyebrow, my hands sliding down his -- woah girl. I struggled to shove it to the back of my mind. "Looking for an apartment, I see. Good luck. There's a serious housing shortage all over the city."

"You're telling me," I muttered, then sighed. He was regarding me with those liquid gold orbs of his again and I felt the heat of them weakening my knees -- and my hold on the beast. Without taking his eyes off of me, he reached into his breastpocket, then held out a small white business card to me. I took it, careful not to touch him agian. I had a feeling it'd undo me completely.

"Dr. Kevin Green," I read off. Handsome, charming, and a doctor? Wasn't he too good to be true.

"That's me," he chuckled. The sound rolled through my senses and I had to remind myself to breathe, to focus on what he was saying and not what the cat was imaging, raking my teeth over that delicious curve of his neck, runnign my fingers down those strong arms and feeling silk carress skin, exploring each curve, each dip of his muscles...

I blinked and realized I'd completely missed what he said. "I'm sorry, what?" He was looking at me with merriment in that smouldering gaze as if he was quite aware of where my thoughts had been.

"I said, if you ever need a place to crash or any help, feel free to call me, miss...?"

"Dani," I supplied. "Danielle. Veras." I mentally smacked myself for acting like a nervous sixth-grader.

He took my hand and the touch of his warm skin was electric, sending a thrill racing through me. I'm sure the emerald gaze of the panther was showing through my eyes; I was barely holding it back. I watched as he raised my hand to his lips, riveted, my hand limp in his grasp. His breath carressed my skin and I gasped. I might have even moaned. I'm not sure. All I know was that a fire was raging through me, and the brush of his lips along my knuckles was like throwing gasoline on it.

"A pleasure," he murmured, a low purr in his voice. Feline, he had to be. He was grinning like the cat who'd gotten the cream. It would explain why my beast wanted to ball my hands up in that over-priced silk, pin him up against the wall, and --

Oh god. Living in New Babylon was already starting to take its toll on my mental health.

He excused himself. I think I stammered out a suitable goodbye. I couldn't tear myself away from his captivating eyes. Finally he inclined his head to me politely and turned, melding into the crowd.

Long after he disappeared from my sight, I stayed rooted to the spot, a sudden longing I'd never felt before washing through me. It wasn't even just the hint of lust I'd seen in his eyes -- it was teh feral wildness in those depths, the primal pull of a kindred spirit, the whispered promise of acceptance and belonging.

"Fuck," I muttered to myself. Staying human in the city of Freaks was going to be hard.


	3. Getchyer Freak On

Note: This story addresses mature issues and contains references to violence, gore, sex, and alternative lifestyles. If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, please do not continuing reading. If you have any comments or criticisms, please feel free to review and/or email me.

This chapter has also been editted and censored to conform to the 'M' rating. If you are a consenting adult over the age of 18 and are not bothered by scenes of graphic sex and/or violence, please feel free to look this story up on AdultFanfiction under the same title and author penname.

Chapter 3:

As it turns out, jobs in a city of freaks are at once nothing special and at the same time rather interesting. There were the typical minimum wage fast food and menial labor jobs, the monotonous and mundane office jobs, the high stress skilled labor jobs, and everything in between. There were a newspaper, four local TV channels, and a perpetually overcrowded mall that I decided to avoid like it was a cess pool of filth and stench... which it was, to me. I don't know how other Ferals stood it, and I didn't even have that great of a sense of smell.

Who knew that a city like New Babylon could be so.. normal. Well, until I realized that there was a serious lack of machines in the hospital. And that the city police were a mixture of Tankers and Ferals that put any other SWAT or special ops team to shame. I'm not even going to get into the secretary I encountered my first day at the Relocation Center who I'm pretty sure had a computer in her brain.

Me? My four years of medical school seemed a bit useless when the hospitals -- all two of them -- didn't even bother to have an X-ray machine. I guess there was no sense in spending the money on it when the Gas had provided them with someone with X-ray vision. Or when the doctors could simply touch their patients and heal them. Don't really need splints or even holding rooms when the healing took place instantly. If the healer Freaks couldn't fix you up, you were probably already dead anyway. So I put five years of hosting late night college parties to good use and got a job as a waitress at a small nightclub near my new apartment. I'm pretty sure he could smell the desperation on me.

At least it'd pay the bills.

It meant that I had to adopt a mostly nocturnal sleep schedule, but I'd always been one for late nights and later mornings, so that wasn't too much of a compromise on my part. I went to work at about eight pm, worked until the club closed at two am, then came home, slept, and woke up the next day around ten am. I don't sleep much, for the same reason I'm always fidgeting. Just not comfortable in my own skin; it feels on the small side with two of us in it, after all.

Three weeks in and everything was going good. Well, as good as it could go after having had my life crash around my ears and losing every friend and achievement I'd ever made in my twenty-five years of freedom.

Like I said, not bitter.

I paused at the sight of myself in the mirror, letting my eyes travel over my reflection scrutinously. I was wearing an off-the shoulder, form-fitting black dress so short that when I bent over, you could almost -- almost -- see my black silk panties. It contrasted deliciously with my pale skin, a result of long days and nights spent holed up in the library. The fabric of the dress was tight enough that it hugged my generous curves, dipping down low to tease at the valley between my breasts. I'd released my ebony hair from its usual bun, and it fell down around my shoulders in silky black waves. My cheeks bore just the hint of freckles, something I'd always covered up with base because I though they looked childish. My eyes were the only thing about myself I genuinedly liked; framed by long lashes, my eyes were a brilliant shade of emerald, flecked with hues of gold that really stood out when my beast was close to the surface.

I ran my palms over my stomach, smoothing the dress down and glanced over my shoulder down my back. Too risque? I wondered. Nah, Joe'd appreciate it. I nodded, inhaled.

"You're just another human. Just stay normal," I told my reflection, sternly. I'd lost everything. I wasn't about to lose my normalcy, too.

Then I grabbed my purse and headed out. Thankfully the nightclub was only four blocks away, though there's nothing worse to start your day off than having to descend four flights of stairs in stilettos. Apparently Bugman didn't believe in being handicap accessible. No surprise; he pinched pennies every place he could fit his grubby little fingers.

Hi ho, off to work I went.

As far as work went, it was brainless work as long as I turned my brain to autopilot. Balance the tray, don't drop it. Smile at the customers. Lean forward just a little and I'd get a bigger tip. Toss my hair and meet one of their eyes and that tip would go up even more. Keep out of hand's reach. And, at the end of the night, separate the bills and the phone numbers. Put the money in my purse; put the phone numbers in the garbage. I wondered whether any of them actually expected me to call them back or not... I was hoping not. The last thing I needed was a stalker, too.

"Done for the night?"

His voice was near my ear. Heat slid down my spine and I stiffened in surprise, both at the fact he was here and at the intensity of my reaction to it. Speaking of stalkers... I turned to look at Dr. Kevin Green, MD. His molten gold eyes caught mine, but I noticed, peripherally, he was dressed in another of his expensive silk suits, though the neck was open, not held shut by a tie, and I could see the dip between his collarbones and a hint of his smooth, strong chest. I inhaled sharply.

"You know, this is borderline harassment."

He grinned. It brought a dark, primal light to his eyes that made me grip my serving tray. I'm sure my eyes were flecked with gold, too, I could feel my panther underneath my skin, staring out at him through my eyes and devouring what she saw.

"Yes, but if I'm not mistaken..." he began, reaching out for my hand again. He didn't kiss it, just held it, rubbing his thumb over the side of my hand, brushing the soft skin of my wrist. He paused at the feeling of my pulse, skittering underneath his touch. "... you're rather enjoying being harassed."

"I'm a lesbian," I told him, defiantly. He smiled at me, amused, like a parent watching a child throw a temper tantrum.

"You're a Feral, sweetheart. Equipment doesn't matter one whit." He was right, damn him. One of the parts of being a Feral was an overactive sex drive and a population that discerned suitable bedmates according to species and not gender. It was rare to find a feline Feral with a canine one; it was basically unheard of for a Feral to bed a non-Feral. Most Ferals' idea of 'normal' sex was rough enough that most other Thresholds faced serious physical damage. Ferals saw violence as a natural extension of sex (or is it the other way around?). Most others tend to disagree.

I supposed it only made sense -- we're incredibly durable, so our sex would push those limits. And in those overarcing groups of similar Ferals, anything went.

I'd discovered the downside of my Feral tastes with my first real boyfriend. He'd bit down on my lower lip during one particularly steamy make-out session. Being a good girlfriend, plus rather horny, I'd returned the favor... which ended our make-out session as well as our relationship. Apparently the sice hours I'd spent at the hospital while they reattached his lip meant nothing.

Oh well.

I glared at him. "Are you calling me a whore?" I couldn't keep the challenge out of my voice. Bad move. Challenging a Feral always led to a fight... which usually led to sex, unless you really didn't like the other person. I tried to make my panther back down, but she wasn't listening to me. I was losing control. He laughed again. Damn that sound, it slid right through me and pooled between my legs.

He stepped forward. I stepped back, bumping into the table behind me. He leaned in; I could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. One hand raised, his fingers ever so lightly brushing my hair back off of my shoulder. My eyes closed at the sensation, my back arching as his lips lowered. I could feel his hot breath escaping over my skin and it made me whimper softly in protest when he paused.

"I wasn't planning on paying you," he murmured against my skin, and my fury at that smug tone in his voice warred inside of me with the sudden heat that was coursing through my veins.

He stood, slipping a piece of paper into my hand. I gripped it, tightly, as if to remind myself that there was something else in the world other than his breath, his heat. He didn't say anything more, but turned and walked out of the club. I watched him go, then my knees gave out and I sank into the table. My dress was short enough that I was probably flashing anyone in front of me, but since it was only me and Aaron, the bartender, left, I couldn't care less.

I opened my palm, looking down at the slip of paper. It was an address. A close one, too, I recognized the street. I growled and closed my fist around it. That pompous, arrogant...! Did he really think I was going to just up and knock on his door? Fling myself into his arms and beg him to quelch the throbbing ache between my legs? Yeah right. Yeah, fucking right.

So when I found myself knocking on his door half an hour later, I was telling myself I was going to throw the piece of paper in his face and then storm off. I barely registered that the house was a nice one -- a really nice one, actually. I'd had to go through a wrought iron fence that tingled when my skin touched it. Most Ferals didn't like worked metals, there was something about it that didn't sit right with our more.. natural tendancies. It was too.. crafted.

The door clicked open and he was looking down at me. He smiled. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore, just his pants and that shirt with the first three buttons undone.

"Before you even say anything, I didn't come here to sleep with you," I blurted out. "I came to tell you to never ever approach me again or I'm going to the fucking police to get a restrain--"

His hand shot out, wrapping around the back of my neck and he jerked me forward. I couldn't keep my balance in my highheels and I tumbled into him. He was as firm and hot against me as I'd imagined and I pressed into him. One of my hands went against his chest to brace myself, curling in the thin fabric of his shirt. His lips descended to mine and I knew I was lost, because they were soft and deft and searing hot. I moaned against his lips, eyes closing. His kiss was neither gentle nor tender, but rough and hungry, his tongue sliding past my lips and plundering my mouth. I could feel his need for me straining at his thinly held controls.

He yanked me into the house. I slammed the door behind me and he shoved me up against the wall with an audible thunk. I was pinned between the cold wall and the heat of his body and I couldn't think past his mouth claiming mine. My fingers dug into his back, running down over the sculpted contour of his muscles. I was arching up against him, a mindless slave to the desire that had washed over me and consumed me so completely. His hand pressed to the plane of my stomach and slid up, and I knew that if I didn't stop him now, there was no stopping him. The question was, did I really want this...?

Oh yeah. More than I could describe. I didn't stop him.

I'd never been with a Feral before, certainly never been with a man who could meet my need for a .. firm hand in the bedroom, but he met and exceeded every hope I might have had. It was brief, but I'm not sure I could have survived the sensory overload of a longer encounter, and a half an hour later, when we were a tangle of arms and legs, I couldn't help but sigh in satisfaction. He laughed against my ear and then propped himself up on his elbows so he could look down at me. I'd messed up that neat braid of his and I liked him when he looked like that.

"Care for the phone? To call for that restraining order, perhaps?"

I stared at him. He grinned, and I growled in mock fury, smacking his upper arm. "Shut up," I shot back, then collapsed back down onto the bed. My body felt sore, abused, and wonderfully warm. I just wanted to stretch out like a cat in the sun and sleep. He must have sensed it because he left me long enough to grab the covers at the base of the bed and pull them up around his. He lay back, I rested my head on his chest, and he wrapped the covers around us.

I sighed, happily. "Thanks," I murmured, and before I'd even had time to register his response I was asleep.


End file.
